


later on the road is gonna break your world in two

by katsumi



Series: a future we didn't dare hope for [1]
Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It, Post-Movie(s), Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 17:13:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11109126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsumi/pseuds/katsumi
Summary: There are a lot of things Steve wants to say. Like 'what the hell is this thing,' and 'why are you in this fight all by yourself,' and 'I love you, I love you, I love you.'Instead, he says: “DIANA, LOOK OUT!” And then he dives to the side as the creature’s tail slices through the air where he once stood.(In which instead of properly dying, Steve Trevor gets shoved back into the world of the living a hundred years after the end of the war. It's more than a little confusing.)





	later on the road is gonna break your world in two

**Author's Note:**

> Based entirely on the 2017 Wonder Woman movie. I'm not familiar with the comics, or with the DCEU in general, so please forgive any inaccuracies. I just wanted to bask in some Steve/Diana feels.

****Steve wakes to a room coated in brilliant, blinding light.

Or at least, it seems like a room. There are no walls, or ceiling, or floor, but he seems not to be plummeting through space, so clearly he’s sitting on _something_. Something soft. Possibly a cloud.

Across the not-quite-room is a woman with golden hair and fierce eyes, dressed in a full suit of armor and looking painfully bored. She has her chin in her hand, drumming her fingers along her knee, and it takes a moment for Steve’s mind to slot that face into place: the woman from the island. The one who took a bullet for Diana.

“Hey,” he says; his voice is scratchy, thick from disuse. “Didn’t you die?”

It’s probably not the most tactful ask, but he _did_ just blow himself up. He’s not exactly at his best.

Her fingers still.

“For that matter,” he continues, “didn’t _I_ die?”

Slowly, she raises her head to look at him.

“Yes,” she says.

“To which?”

“To both. We died.”

“Huh.” A small flicker of disappointment burns and turns to smoke within his chest. “So, this is heaven, then?”

The woman looks at him like he’s the stupidest man she’s ever met. Which, well, he could be, given that he’s one of the  _only_  men she’s ever met.

“What’s with the look?”

She folds her arms across her chest. “You think that heaven involves sitting in silence with someone you barely know?”

Steve crosses his arms, too, mirroring her. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never died before.”

“It’s not heaven,” she says, with a huff. “It’s something else.”

That gets him to sit up a bit straighter. “It’s not hell, right? I’ve done some things, don’t get me wrong, but I really don’t think—”

“Quiet,” she snaps, clearly already past the point of patience. “Just be quiet and wait.”

He can’t help himself.

“Wait for what?”

She sighs. “I don’t know. But we’re both here. There has to be a reason. And I can think of only one commonality between us.”

He’s not sure he really has a pulse anymore, now that he’s dead. No blood, and all. But even so, he can feel  something thrumming hot in his veins.

“Diana?” he manages.

The woman looks down, clasps her hands along her knees.

“Diana,” she agrees.

 

* * *

 

After some degree of pestering—which Steve’s not particularly proud of, but desperate times—she tells him everything she knows. Which, unfortunately, isn’t a whole lot.

Her name is Antiope. She’s Diana’s aunt. When she died, she showed up here. Steve turned up not long after.

She doesn’t know where “here” is, except that it’s separate from time and space and “the petty world of men.” (He tries not to take that personally.)

She’s not sure why any of this is happening, only that it probably has something to do with Zeus pulling some strings. Which is a statement Steve instinctively wants to laugh at, just because everything about this is patently absurd. But if the past few days have taught him anything, it’s not to rule stuff like _interference from the gods_ out of the picture. So he holds his tongue.

Antiope doesn’t know what happened to Diana. Steve tries not to let that bother him.

But as he waits—for this strange crack in the universe to fold him up and spit him out, for the pearly whites to appear, for _something_ —his mind keeps drifting back to her. To her cheek, warm beneath his palm; her lips, curved into that smile. To the last time he saw her, aching and confused and mere moments away from single-handedly ending a war that had infected the entire globe.

There’s an ache in his chest where his heart...still appears to be beating? (Death is weird.)

But even though it kills him (figuratively, of course, being that he is already dead) not knowing if she’s alright, there’s also this strange sense of calm. Because things had to have worked out. If there’s one thing he’s absolutely sure of, it’s that there’s nothing Diana can’t do. She’s okay. She has to be.

Still. It would be nice to know for sure.

 

* * *

 

And then one day—well, not that you can really use _days_ to measure time wherever this is, but close enough—things change.

He looks over at Antiope and she’s translucent, eyes wide, staring at something Steve cannot see.

“What?” he asks, scrambling to his feet. “What is it?”

It’s like all the tension has melted from Antiope’s shoulders, which should probably be comforting, but in actuality is rather frightening.

“Hippolyta?” she whispers.

And just like that, she’s gone.

“Oh, come _on_!” Steve shouts, surging forward through the now-empty space. “What the hell is—”

But mid-stride the white has dimmed, hardened, twisted into grey clouds overhead and cement beneath his feet and rain pelting down on his neck, hands, head. He stumbles forward, disoriented by the sudden weight of gravity and then he sees her: bent beneath the weight of some grotesque creature, eyes red and arms trembling with the effort of holding the beast at bay.

“DIANA!”

He’s not sure what his plan is, exactly. Not only is he without his gun, but he’s still (theoretically) dead. And even if he’s not dead anymore (to be determined), he’s clearly no match for whatever this thing is. But he’s not going to see Diana in danger and _not_ do something about it.

Her eyes snap to his, wide and incredulous. And for just a moment, even though he’s pretty sure he’s running—his feet are definitely moving forward—it feels like time stands still.

Then she turns back around, locks her thighs around the monster’s neck, and slams it down, so hard it dents the concrete.

In an instant, she’s on her feet and sliding between him and the creature, arms outstretched.

“Don’t come any closer!” she shouts over her shoulder, as if that’s an order he’s actually going to obey. He thought he was never going to see her again; like he’s really going to stay away now?

Plus, there’s the whole _haven’t used his legs in a while_ thing. His reflexes aren’t super fast. So he winds up essentially colliding with her back.

“It is poisonous to humans!” she says, frantic. “Stay back!”

There are a lot of things Steve wants to say. Like _what the hell is this thing_ , and _why are you in this fight all by yourself_ , and _I love you, I love you, I love you_.

Instead, he says: “DIANA, LOOK OUT!” And then he dives to the side as the creature’s tail slices through the air where he once stood.

Something catches his eye, a glint of metal towards the edge of the...roof. (Oh, god, they’re on a roof. How is he just now noticing this.)

“Diana!” he shouts, racing for her sword. “Here, catch!”

He throws it. And even though it’s not a particularly good throw, and even though she’s in the process of pummeling the creature in the chest, she manages to reach back with one hand and catch it effortlessly. With a scream, she drives the blade straight through the beast’s heart, causing it to collapse into a puddle of its own purple ooze.

For a moment, they both stand still, breathing heavy.

“Well,” says Steve, more to fill the silence than anything else. “That was gross.”

Diana whips around to face him. She’s sheet-white.

“Diana?”

He takes a step forward, but she’s already striding towards him, red boots clunking against the ground. She stops just shy of him, eyes wide and desperate, hands outstretched and trembling like she wants to reach out but can’t bring herself to.

“Steve?” Her voice is shaky. “You’re alive?”

“Possibly. But let me just...” He takes her hand in his and closes the distance for her, lifting it to his cheek. Her palm is cold and calloused, and he presses tighter, feels the ridge of her finger push up against his cheekbone.

Not a ghost, then. Solid. Temporal.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I think I am.”

Disbelief turns slowly to amazement, and then—his heart soars at the sight—to joy. She laughs, a quick exhale, and then her arms are around his shoulders, her nose buried in his neck, and it’s more than a little overwhelming. He remembers what it felt like to put his hands on her shoulders and say goodbye and _know_ , with such sharp certainty, that he’d never hold her in his arms like this again.

“Steve,” she mumbles. “Steve, Steve.”

He clutches her as close as he possibly can.

“I’m hoping I can take this as a sign that you missed me?”

She laughs again, and it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

 

* * *

 

They both have a lot of questions. And while he’d really prefer to sit down and talk them all out, the fact remains that they are still on top of a (very large) building. With no easy way of getting down.

When he realizes that Diana’s outstretched arms means she’s offering to carry him, he almost chokes.

“No way.”

“You doubt that I can do it?” she asks, blinking.

“No, I _know_ that you can do it. I just—” He sighs. “Can I at least get on your back instead? It’s more dignified.”

She smirks. “If you prefer.”

He assumes she’s going to climb down the side of the building. But instead, she hoists him up and takes a running leap onto the next building’s roof, and then the next, and then the next. Once he manages to temper the _complete and utter panic_ , he has to admit: it’s a pretty convenient way to travel.

Plus, he’s distracted by the glittering expanse of city: the mountain-sized buildings with pure glass windows, the multicolored lights, the rounded, gleaming cars. It’s like nothing he’s ever seen.

Finally, she lands on what appears to be the correct roof, because she stops, shrugging her shoulders so as to indicate he can let go.

“Are we home?” Steve asks, stepping down.

Diana stiffens. She doesn’t turn around.

“Follow me,” she says.

Steve does, walking behind her through a metal door and down a flight of stairs until they emerge in a small, tidy apartment. The fridge is hulking metal, and there’s a strange black square in the corner that he doesn’t understand, and he has a lot of questions that all die on his lips when Diana turns back towards him, eyebrows furrowed.

“Steve—”

“I take it,” he says, anticipating her question, “some time has passed since we last saw each other?”

She nods.

“A lot of time?”

“Coming up on a hundred years.”

He doesn’t miss the waver in her voice, the hint of worry, and he wants to address it. But that number knocks him sideways.

“Wow. I, err—wow. That’s...okay.” His brain is spinning. “Well, uh—you look better than I’d expect, for a hundred-something-year-old.”

He winces.

“Not that—not that I wouldn’t expect you to look...I mean, you always look—”

Without warning, her fingers are on his forehead, brushing strands of wet hair from his brow.

“You need to shower,” she murmurs. “And change. You’ll catch cold.”

He wants to reach for her, to swipe his thumb along her cheek.

Instead, his hand curls into a fist at his side.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “That’s probably a good idea.”

 

* * *

 

All she has that fits him is a tight small orange shirt and a pair of stretchy pants—sweatpants, she calls them—that are so snug around his thighs, the waistband starts digging a red welt next to his hipbone within minutes of putting them on. But he’s clean, and clothed, and _standing in Diana’s bedroom_ , so he finds it rather hard to care about pants a size too small.

(Plus, he’s stupidly, selfishly relieved she doesn’t have easy access to men’s clothes.)

“Are the clothes alright?”

He looks up to see her leaning against the doorframe to her room, and for a moment, it’s difficult to breathe. He’d gathered, from a quick peek into her open closet, that clothes seem to have a lot less fabric than they did back in his day (wow, does he sound old). But it’s a pretty big thing to have to adjust to an entire century of fashion changes in a single day. She’s in short pants and a baggy shirt, but there’s enough bare skin that he can’t help but remember that night in Veld, her body warm and soft against his.

He swallows.

“They’re fine,” he says.

“Not too small?”

“Not too small.”

She smiles. “Good.”

He waits. He takes his cues from her.

Her smile fades, but she doesn’t move.

“I can sleep on the sofa,” he offers.

At that, she pushes up from the wall and walks towards the bed.

“Seriously,” Steve continues. “I can, it’s no trouble to…”

“No.” She stops just in front of him. “I would prefer if you stayed where I can see you.” She offers a quick smile. “I’m worried if I let you out of my sight, you will disappear.”

“Not an unreasonable worry,” he agrees. “I’m not entirely convinced this is real.”

Her face falls.

“I saw it,” says Diana, a little louder, like she can’t contain herself anymore. “I saw the plane explode, Steve. I _saw_ it.”

“I know.”

“And here you are, like not a day has gone by, but—”

“I know. Diana—” He closes his hands around her elbows, steadying her. “Believe me, I know. None of this makes sense. Your aunt mentioned something about Zeus, that he might have...messed with things.”

She blinks. “Antiope?”

“Yeah. She says hello, by the way.”

“You were together?” she asks. “Where?”

“I don’t know, someplace bright. Look, I’m as confused as you are. None of this makes sense. But I’m here.”

She nods, frowning like she’s trying to internalize those words.

“You’re here,” she echoes. “And you’re—staying.”

“That’s the plan,” he says. He almost adds _if you’ll have me_ , but stops himself. Some great power has gifted him another chance on earth; it seems too much to ask that he be gifted another chance with her, as well.

When she tilts her chin to look at him, he can see her eyes are wet.

“Will you stay here tonight, Steve? With me?”

He releases a shaky breath. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

They crawl into bed, and Diana reaches over to turn out the lamp by her bedside. Then they’re sliding together, her cheek on his chest, his arm curled around her waist, and he remembers so vividly the first and only time they fell asleep like this before, how he’d already known he wanted to spend every last day of his life with her. How he’d fallen asleep that night hoping against hope that might have more days to spend together.

This—lying in Diana’s bed a full century after the end of the war—wasn’t exactly what he had hoped for. But he’ll definitely take it.

 

* * *

 

When he opens his eyes to the soft, gray light of morning, Diana is already awake. She’s shifted closer during the night, draping her thigh across his, and while she’s motionless, he can feel the dizzying beat of her heart against his side.

He strokes his palm down the curve of her spine in what he intends to be a comforting gesture, but immediately stops when she tenses beneath his fingers.

“Diana?”

She’s quiet for a long beat. And then, softly: “How long was it? For you?”

“Not sure,” he answers, truthfully. “Time was hard to measure. There were no days and nights, and I didn’t sleep or anything, so it’s tough to tell. Not that long.”

_Not that long. But also, somehow, a lifetime._

She nods; her chin brushes against his ribs.

“A hundred years—” He swallows, starts again. “A hundred years is a long time. You—”

He’s cut off by the weight of her palm at the center of his chest. When he glances down, she’s staring up at him: warm brown eyes, brow furrowed in concentration.

“One hundred years,” she says, slow. “And I’ve thought about it nearly every day.”

His breath catches. “Thought about what?”

“You told me that you loved me.”

He stiffens.

“You heard that?” he manages.

“Not at first. But that is what you said, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” There’s no point in lying. “Yeah, it was.”

She doesn’t look happy. If anything, her frown deepens.

“And then you died,” she says. “And sacrificed yourself for all of us, for me, and I never even told you that I love you, too.”

His heart clenches. He doesn’t want to read too much into that use of present tense, but…

“I didn’t say it to hear you say it back,” he murmurs over the pounding in his ears.

“But you deserved to hear it back,” she insists. “You deserved so much more, Steve.”

He’s having a hard time making his mouth form words. “Well, I—”

And then she takes the burden of an intelligent reply off his shoulders by leaning forward and kissing him, firm and soft all at once. He eyes slide closed as he shudders into it, and she wraps a palm around his neck as if to anchor him.

“Diana,” he whispers. His lips brush hers with every word. “It’s been a hundred years. I understand if you don’t—”

She kisses him again, harder this time, and he responds in kind: pulling her flush against his chest, raking his fingers through her hair.

“I want to hear,” he manages, breathless, “about all the ways you’ve saved the world.”

She lifts her head, arches a single eyebrow.

“Later, Steve.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, smiling up at her. “Later is good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh I loved this movie so much. This was my first time writing them, so I'd love to hear your thoughts. :)
> 
> I'm [leralynne](leralynne.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


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